by Rosie Harris
‘Take her out!’ Bertha jeered. ‘Where do you think you will find anywhere open on Christmas Day? A workman’s café is about all you can afford and even those down on the dockside will be closed tomorrow.’
‘Take no notice of Bertha, she’s just letting off steam,’ Bryson said quickly. ‘If you’ve managed to earn a few bob, you’d be better off letting us use it to buy some extras,’ he added in a cajoling voice.
‘I suppose by that you mean you’ll buy some extra booze and more ciggies,’ Fern commented.
‘Extra drink, extra food, and anything else you fancy, my lovely.’ He grinned, puffing a cloud of smoke in her direction.
‘Not for us, thank you very much,’ she retorted primly. ‘Mam doesn’t like drink, anyway.’
‘So what sort of Christmas are you planning on having? Going along to the Sally Army canteen for a bowl of vegetable soup and a crust of stale bread? If you’re lucky, you might even get a chicken drumstick as well.’
Fern didn’t bother to answer. Out of the corner of her eye she could see her mother frowning and knew she was worried about how she was going to answer Bertha. She knew her mother didn’t like it when she was rude or cheeky so she merely smiled and said nothing.
‘You want to remember that if you start upsetting them, and your uncle Bryson throws us out, we have nowhere else to go,’ Wynne warned her the minute they were on their own. ‘All this grand talk about us going out for our Christmas dinner, how can we do that without spending the wages you’ve earned? We’ve already agreed that money is going to be put away towards getting a place of our own.’
‘Here’re my wages and you can put every penny of it away, Mam,’ Fern announced as she handed over the envelope Maria had given her. ‘I don’t intend spending a single penny of them. I don’t need to, because I’ve earned enough in tips to pay for us to go out for our meal tomorrow and that’s what we’ll do.’
‘You’d be better off buying yourself a warm coat or something you need rather than spending it like that,’ her mother scolded, but the frown had gone from her face and Fern could tell that she wasn’t really cross. The thought of eating a meal in pleasant surroundings, away from Bertha and Bryson, had brought a smile to her lips.
The next morning they took their time getting up and getting ready to go out. They both put on their best clothes and made sure that they looked as smart as they possibly could.
The night before they’d talked endlessly about where they would go and Fern was afraid that, as it was Christmas Day, everywhere might be so busy that they wouldn’t be able to find anywhere suitable.
Bertha spotted them when they came downstairs shortly before midday and reminded them that she was cooking a Christmas dinner if they wanted to change their minds and share it with her and Bryson.
‘I didn’t think you wanted us to do that,’ Wynne said quietly. ‘Only last night you were complaining that having us here over Christmas was creating far too much work for you.’
‘No more than usual,’ Bertha responded quickly, shrugging her broad shoulders dismissively. ‘So are you staying or not?’
‘We wouldn’t dream of imposing on you and Bryson.’ Wynne smiled. ‘Another time, perhaps.’
‘Now where on earth are we going to find somewhere serving food today?’ Wynne asked as they walked briskly along Angelina Street.
There was a light drizzle falling and though it was not very cold for the time of year, they couldn’t help recalling how warm and cheerful it had been back home in their cosy little house in Blaenafon this time last year. Their living room had been festooned with colourful home-made paper chains and around the overmantle there had been sprigs of holly, its bright, red berries gleaming in the firelight.
‘I don’t know,’ Fern admitted, ‘but I suppose there might be a restaurant open in the centre of the city. Shall we walk to the Pier Head and catch a tram from there and see what we can find?’
‘Probably everything will be more expensive than usual because it’s Christmas Day,’ her mother said worriedly. ‘How much did you say you have to spend?’
‘Three pounds and two shillings. I had planned to buy you a present and also to buy one for Glanmor,’ Fern explained.
‘Treating me to a meal will be a wonderful present, cariad,’ Wynne told her, squeezing her arm. ‘Who’s this Glanmor, though, and why were you going to buy him a present?’ She frowned.
‘I told you all about him, Mam. Glanmor’s mother is a relation of Maria Roberts and Glanmor took me along to meet Mrs Roberts and that’s how I got the job.’
‘Oh, of course. I do remember you telling me now,’ Wynne said quickly. ‘Wasn’t he the boy who stuck up for you when you first went to Eleanor Street and stopped the others teasing you?’
‘That’s right. I wanted to get him a present but I was going to ask you what sort of thing I should buy him. I thought perhaps a nice tie, but I’ve never seen him wearing one.’
‘Wouldn’t a scarf be better, something to keep him warm?’ Wynne suggested.
‘Well, it’s too late now.’ Fern sighed. ‘Anyway,’ she went on philosophically, ‘it will probably take all my money to pay for our meal.’
There was no tram in sight when they reached the Pier Head and they both wondered if perhaps there wouldn’t be any running because it was Christmas Day.
‘There’s a young chap over there leaning on the railings, so let’s go and ask him. Mind you, from the way he’s staring out to sea, it’s a boat, not a tram, he’s waiting for,’ Wynne added with a laugh.
Fern thought that from the broad shoulders and thick head of dark hair the boy looked vaguely familiar. When he turned round, she gave a gasp of pleasure. ‘It’s Glanmor, Mam, the boy we were talking about.’
Glanmor seemed to be equally surprised to see them as he ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his eyes, and gave Fern a lopsided smile of recognition.
‘Glanmor, this is my mam,’ Fern told him. ‘Do you know if there are any trams today?’
‘Yes, but they don’t start running until midday.’ He looked up at the Pier Head clock. ‘That means you have about a quarter of an hour to wait,’ he told her.
‘Well, that’s not too bad.’ She smiled. ‘Are you waiting for one as well?’
‘No, I’m just killing time. My mam’s working so I’m hanging around until she comes home and we can have something to eat. She works as a cleaner at the Seaman’s Mission in Bute Street and they’ve asked her to go in today and give a hand. They are putting on a special Christmas dinner and they wanted her to help with the washing-up afterwards. I’m hoping that there will be some leftovers and that they’ll let her bring them home for my meal tonight,’ he added with a broad grin.
Fern looked enquiringly at her mother and when Wynne gave a tiny nod of agreement she said quickly, ‘Look, Glanmor, me and Mam are going into town to see if we can find anywhere open where we can get a nice meal. Would you like to come with us?’
His mouth shaped into a silent whistle of surprise as he looked from one to the other. ‘Do you really mean that?’ he asked, the colour rushing to his face.
‘Of course we do,’ Wynne affirmed. ‘You can probably tell us where to find somewhere open today.’
‘I can do that without coming with you,’ he said bluntly. ‘You two are all dressed up as if going somewhere important, so you won’t want to be seen with me.’ Rather self-consciously he started to button up his coat to hide the much-darned dark blue jumper he was wearing underneath.
‘We really would like you to come with us, Glanmor,’ Fern insisted, her eyes shining. ‘I’ve told my mam all about you and what a good friend you’ve been to me so it would be a nice way of saying thank you if you’d let us treat you to a meal.’
Although at first Glanmor seemed slightly embarrassed and awkward in their company, by the time they boarded the tram they were all at ease with each other. He even confided in them that the reason he’d been at the Pier Head was because he loved watching all th
e ships.
‘I often try and work out what cargo they’re carrying and where they’ve come from or, if they’re leaving, where they’re going to.’
‘I like seeing the ships but I don’t like the scream of the gulls as they circle overhead,’ Fern told him.
‘Some people say that the gulls are the souls of sailors drowned at sea,’ he said.
‘Oh, that makes me more scared of them than ever,’ Fern said with a shiver.
Glanmor knew of a restaurant in Westgate Street where they were able to enjoy an exceptionally good meal at a reasonable price, complete with a helping of Christmas pudding as well as mince pies and coffee afterwards.
‘That was a real feast,’ he told Fern, ‘I enjoyed every mouthful. What about walking up to Cathays Park before we go home?’
‘Is that near here? I’m afraid we haven’t found time to explore very much since we arrived,’ Wynne explained.
‘You mean you haven’t seen Cardiff Castle or the city hall or the national museum and the law courts?’ he asked in surprise.
‘We don’t even know where to look for them,’ Wynne admitted as they both shook their heads.
‘I can see you need a guided tour of Cardiff.’ Glanmor grinned. ‘You’ll only be able to see the castle from the outside today, of course, but even that is well worth a visit. Come on, it’s not very far and then I’ll show you the civic centre. It’s not far to walk and it will give us all a spot of exercise after that big meal.’
Glanmor was right. As he took them from Westgate Street into Castle Street, Wynne and Fern were dazzled by their first glimpse of the magnificent walls and towers of Cardiff Castle.
‘If you look through this archway, you can see on that little hill in the distance the original old castle built by the Normans on the site where there was once a motte that was topped by a wooden fort. Robert, the eldest son of William the Conqueror, was kept prisoner there and died in 1134. Since then there have been all sorts of additions made to it each time it changed hands. Most of the new castle was built by the Earls of Bute who still own it.’
‘Goodness, you are well informed,’ Wynne gasped.
‘That’s probably because I’ve always enjoyed history lessons,’ he said laconically as they walked away and turned the corner into Kingsway and towards the civic centre which was just a short distance away.
Wynne and Fern were very impressed by the grandeur of the city hall and the rest of the grand buildings which were all built of gleaming white Portland stone and sparkled in the weak winter sunshine.
‘It really is a wonderful setting,’ Wynne exclaimed as Glanmor pointed out the national museum which stood at one side of the city hall and the law courts which faced it across the wide, tree-lined road.
‘You should come back again when they’re open and you can go inside,’ he told them. ‘There are some wonderful statues and pictures in the city hall and there are rooms and rooms of things on display in the national museum. You could spend a whole day in there looking around.’
‘We will keep that in mind, Glanmor.’
‘Once the cold weather is over,’ he went on exuberantly as he led the way past the city hall to Cathays Park, ‘this place is full of flowers, all through the summer and, on Sundays, when there is a band playing here it’s lovely to sit and listen to it.’
‘It sounds an ideal place for a weekend outing.’ Wynne smiled. ‘Thank you for telling us about it, Glanmor.’
By the time they’d returned home Bertha and Bryson had finished their meal and had drunk a great many cans of beer as well as a bottle of gin. Both of them were in a raucous mood and as Wynne and Fern walked in they bombarded them with questions about where they had been. Bertha also regaled them with details of what a wonderful meal they’d both missed.
‘There may be some bits left on the chicken carcass,’ she told them. ‘You’re welcome to have them if you do the washing-up,’ she chortled.
‘Thank you all the same, but we are going up to our room,’ Wynne told her. ‘We’ve had a very enjoyable day and now we both feel we need a rest and some peace and quiet.’
Chapter Eight
Fern felt so pleased that her mother and Glanmor had met at last; now there would be no need to be secretive when she occasionally walked home from school with him or stopped to chat if she met him when she was out. Then she remembered that the possibilities of this happening in the future were becoming pretty remote because he had now left school and was working full-time.
She wasn’t sure if Maria was going to keep her on. She’d employed her to help with the Christmas rush but would she be busy enough now to want her to help on a Saturday morning? she wondered.
There were still several days of the Christmas holiday left so she would have to go and find out. Perhaps the best thing to do was turn up on Saturday morning as if she was expecting Maria to need her.
On Boxing Day, because the factory was closed and Wynne wasn’t working, Fern and her mother went for a walk.
It was a cold, wintry day but, as Wynne said, it was much better to be out walking around than staying indoors and having to put up with Bertha carping on about how she disliked other people being in her kitchen or having to feed them.
To Fern’s delight, when she turned up on the following Saturday, Maria Roberts greeted her as though she’d been expecting her to be there. They didn’t have a very busy morning so they had time to talk about how they’d spent Christmas.
Maria looked surprised when Fern told her that Glanmor had been with them on Christmas Day and that he’d had Christmas dinner with her and her mother.
‘What did his mam have to say to that?’ she asked in surprise.
‘I don’t know. She was working, he said, and he was just mooching around the Pier Head, so we asked him if he would like to join us. He showed us the castle and the City Hall and all sorts of other places and then we went to Cathays Park. It was really lovely, they were all so impressive.’
‘Yes, Glanmor is a great one for sightseeing. He’s always exploring the back streets of Tiger Bay and spends half his life down at the Pier Head watching the ships coming and going. I’m never too sure in my own mind whether it’s because he wants to go to sea or because he’s just fed up and a bit lonely because he’s on his own so much.’
‘Do you know where he’s gone to work now that he’s left school?’ Fern asked.
‘The same place as he has been working on Saturdays, of course.’
‘Where’s that, then?’
‘You mean he hasn’t told you?’ Maria Robert’s eyes twinkled. ‘Keeping secrets from you already, is he?’
‘I’ve never thought to ask him,’ Fern told her, feeling the colour rushing to her face.
‘Oh, you have too many other things to talk about, is that it? You watch your step with young Glanmor,’ Maria Roberts warned. ‘He’s young and good-looking, but don’t let that bowl you over, cariad. One mistake at your age and you spend the rest of your life regretting it.’
Fern thought about Maria’s words as she was walking home that night. There had been no reason for her to have been so critical, she thought crossly. Glanmor was too nice to take advantage of her and, anyway, they were merely friends, nothing more. He’d stuck up for her at school and he’d helped her find this Saturday job, nothing more. Why did grown-ups always have to think the worst of young people?
She didn’t see anything of Glanmor until the following Tuesday – New Year’s Eve – although he was often in her thoughts and she wondered how he was getting on in his new job. Working full-time was very different from being a Saturday boy, she imagined.
Bertha and Bryson announced that they were going out for the evening that night and ordered Wynne not to lock the door as they had no idea what time they would be coming home.
‘That probably means they will be roaring drunk when they do come home,’ her mother told Fern glumly. ‘Well, by that time we’ll both be safely tucked up in bed and, with any luck, we’ll be as
leep and won’t hear anything of their noisy carryings on.’
‘I don’t think we will be able to get off to sleep if we know the front door is unlocked,’ Fern told her. ‘We’ll both be lying there waiting to hear them come home, won’t we?’
‘Yes, you’re probably right,’ her mother sighed.
‘I tell you what,’ Fern suggested hopefully, ‘why don’t we do what everybody else will be doing and go out? We could walk down to the Pier Head; there’s bound to be a lot of celebrating going on.’
‘Some of the women I work with were telling me all about that,’ her mother told her. ‘It seems that all the ships blow their hooters at midnight to celebrate the end of the old year and welcome in the new year, and people sing and dance in the streets.’
‘There you are, then. It might be good fun,’ Fern persisted.
‘Would it be safe, though?’ Wynne protested. ‘All those strange people . . . we might get caught up in the middle of a fight or something.’
‘We’ll be careful,’ Fern assured her. ‘The first sign of any trouble and we’ll hot-foot it back home.’
They waited until about nine o’clock before they went out. It was a cold night, but clear, and there was a touch of frost in the air.
‘We look as if we are going on a polar expedition not out for a night of fun,’ Fern laughed as they put on warm hats as well as gloves and scarves to keep out the cold.
The streets were busy; people were laughing and singing and calling out greetings to each other as they made their way to the Pier Head.
When someone tapped Fern lightly on the shoulder she let out a little scream of fright. Then as she turned to see who it was, her heart stopped racing from fear and began racing for a completely different reason.
‘Glanmor! What are you doing here?’
‘I could ask you the very same thing.’ He smiled. ‘Good evening, Mrs Jenkins, are you two hoping to take part in the festivities?’
‘I don’t know about taking part, it’s more a case of watching what is going on,’ Wynne told him.
‘Then I’d better show you the best place to be when midnight chimes. What about having a hot drink first, though, to keep out the cold?’